CSi:Yarn About Henry 3: Snails and Puppy Dog Tails
by A Rhea King
Summary: Henry uses a parenting lesson from Grissom to help Nick convince his only witness to tell them what the criminals of Nick's case look liked. No science, all fluff.


**Snails and Puppy Dog Tails  
By A. Rhea King**

_November 2008_

Grissom was in the middle of the best part of his book when someone pounded on his door. He glanced at it, and then went back to reading. Hank, on the other hand, walked to the door and sniffed at the bottom. The person pounded again. Grissom turned the page. He didn't want to talk to anyone. Hank started whining and wagging his stump of a tail.

"Come on, Grissom. I know you're in there," Henry's voice said.

Grissom looked over the top of his book. When Henry started pounding again, Grissom dog-eared the page and sat it down. He opened the door and stared at Henry. His face was flushed yet he had a look that said he might vomit at any minute.

"I need… I need… I don't know… I have no idea what I'm doing! He came home and threw all this at me. He didn't even tell me he was applying, Grissom! I mean, if I'd known… But he didn't tell me. He did it behind my back. They accepted him too! And now, he's supposed to start January after he graduates. I don't know what to do! He's only seven! Well, he'll be eight then, but that's beside the point. I can't send him there alone. I—"

"Do you realize you've been talking for nearly three minutes and told me absolutely nothing? I assume this has something to do with Jason and something he applied for?"

"Jason applied to Yale, to law school. They accepted him."

"Jason wants to be a lawyer?"

"Yes."

"I thought he wanted to be a CSI."

"He can't be a CSI until he's twenty-one 'cuz he can't go to half the crime scenes until then. So he decided he'd practice law until then, without telling me. I don't want him doing that. I want him to stay here until he's at least sixteen, join some sports teams or whatever, be a kid. He won't listen to me. I can't talk him out of it. I told him that no firm is going to hire him until he's at least seventeen or eighteen, he won't be able to practice anywhere. We got into a huge fight and then he punched me and kicked me in the leg, and took off to his friend's house across the street."

"Are you sure he's at his friend's house?"

"Yes. I called his friend's mom, told her what happened. She said he was there and could stay the night if I needed time to cool off."

"That was generous of her. So what have you come here for, Henry? What are you expecting me to do?"

"I want you to talk him out of going."

Grissom leaned on the door. "You want me to talk your brother out of going to college?"

"Yes."

"Is there any particular reason you don't want him to become a lawyer?"

"HE'S SEVEN!"

Grissom stepped back. "Why don't you come in here and yell, instead of in the hall."

Henry moved into the apartment, but not very far. Grissom walked back to the couch and sat down. Henry stared at him.

"Aren't you going to help me?" Henry asked.

Grissom motioned to the chair opposite him. "We're talking first. Sit."

Henry looked in several places — the door, the chair, Hank, out a window — he clearly didn't want to talk. Grissom waited. Henry was angry and frustrated, this was a situation were an extraordinary brain was little help.

Finally Henry walked over to a chair and sat down on the edge.

"I'm going to get a drink of water. While I'm getting it, I want you to prepare an answer for me before I get back. Why does Jason's age matter to you, considering how exceptionally brilliant he is?" Grissom stood. "Why is it so important for you to keep him from going?"

"I can answer that now. I—"

"When I get back."

Grissom took his time getting his drink. He returned and settled on the couch.

"So? What's the answer?"

"He's too young to live by himself."

"I seriously doubt the Yale board would allow that. Just as the University of Mississippi did for you when you attended, they would likely set up a foster family for Jason while he was attending. I'm sure you know that. So what's the real reason, Henry? Why do you really not want him to go?"

Henry fell back in the chair, staring at the coffee table.

"I had to go to college when I was ten. I wanted to stay home and play with the few friends I had. I wanted to spend the summer playing baseball. My dad wouldn't let me do that."

"And so because you didn't have a childhood you want to force Jason to have one?"

"He isn't thinking, Grissom!" Henry looked up. "He may be brilliant but he's still just a kid. I was okay with letting him test out of high school and graduate in December, but I'm not okay with this. I mean… Do you have any idea how many children his age disappear? And he wants to go to a college on the other side of the continent? No. I won't do that. It's not safe, he can't do that."

"Is the objection then him going to school or where he's going?"

"Both!"

Grissom frowned but Henry didn't back down. It was shortly after Henry and Jason's parents died that Grissom had made the discovery that Henry had his father's temper and stubborn streak, but usually he kept those nasty emotions in check. Grissom sensed that without a little fancy, out of the box thinking, this was not going to be one of those nights. Henry clearly did not plan on letting his young brother go to a school thousand miles away no matter what Grissom had to say.

"Why don't you suggest this…" Grissom began. "Jason is going to have to have core classes. Why don't you encourage him to attend UNLV and earn his Associates degree before going to Yale? Explain that doing that will let him get used to college close to home, so if he finds he isn't ready, you are just across town. Maybe even set him up in the dorms so he can spend the weekdays there and find out what it's like to live away from home. That will give you at least another year or year and a half."

"I don't want him to take that many classes his first year. I want him to ease into it."

"Suggest that. Tell him you'd like him to start with six to eight credit hours and allow him to add more as long as he keeps his GPA above a certain point, gets enough sleep, and can still have time for his friends. You are still the parent figure, you can set those kind of expectations."

Henry didn't reply.

"Henry, your brother needs your support. He needs to know you trust him, even at his age. This is his education, he as a right to make this decision. You have a right to set certain limits and expectations in it. You've told me how you felt your father was wrong for making all the decisions when you were a child. Do you want Jason to feel that way about you?"

Horrific realization swept over Henry's face. "Oh my God! I've become my worst nightmare! I'm my father!"

Grissom laughed, shaking his head. "I wouldn't go that far, Henry, but perhaps you need to step back and realize Jason is more interested in helping other people than being a child. Respect him for that."

"But what if… What if he turns forty, looks back, and realizes he never had a childhood? He's going to blame me."

"I don't believe that. You two fight, but what makes you two unique is—"

"We're both in Mensa and graduated high school before we were eight?"

"Well, yes. There is that. What I was going to say is that you two are unique because you've found other people to fill the void of your parents. Few people adapt to a loss like that as easily as you and Jason have."

Henry smiled. "Aw shucks, Grissom, I guess I'll keep callin' ya pa."

Grissom laughed, glad to see Henry smile. "I'm just glad you keep that sass out of the lab. I'd hate to give you autoclave duty."

Child's laughter came from Henry's jacket pocket. He pulled it out and smiled, then answered it.

"Hey Jason," Henry said. "I'm at Grissom's. Yeah. We're talking about our fight. No, Jason, he's not siding with me, or you. He gave me a good idea for a compromise. Well, what about going to UNLV and getting your Associates degree first? Yeah. Here in town. And we can get you a dorm room and… You like that idea." Henry smiled, closing his eyes. "Then let's do that and see how it works. Deal? Okay." Henry held his phone out to Grissom. "He wants to talk to you."

Grissom took the phone. "Yes, Jason?"

"Are we still going to a movie Saturday?"

"Yes. We are."

"Okay. Bye."

Grissom gave it back.

"I'll come home in a little bit, okay? I love you too. I know. I hate when we fight too, but I guess that's just being brothers, huh? Cake." Henry hung up but didn't get up or speak right away.

"Was something else on your mind?"

Henry sat back in his chair. He looked up at Grissom. "Do you think I'll ever get this parent thing right?"

"I'm not the person that you should ask. That's Catherine's expertise."

"Not really, Grissom. You fit better with us."

Grissom smiled. "I'm glad you think so, I guess… I guess I believe that parenting is an ever evolving skill and most of the time you're going by feelings, other people's experience, and completely blind. The thing I've found that has helped in working with children at work is that if they are frightened and scared and confused, you have to make them feel safe and listen to them. In Jason's case, you must always listen and realize his age and interests have him trapped between being a child, and being an adult. Just like they did to you as a child."

Henry smiled. "If you and Sara get married, you'd be a great dad, Grissom."

Grissom didn't comment – that was a conversation that hung in the balance these days. But he graciously told Henry, "I appreciate that you think so."

"Good night, Grissom. Thank you for helping us. Again."

"Any time. Drive safe."

Henry paused to give Hank a scratch behind the ears, and left. Grissom picked up his book and turned to his page to begin reading again.

#

_February 2009_

If the outside of the house was any indication of what Nick and Catherine were going to find inside, Nick was fairly certain he didn't want to go in. The windows were shot out; there were large spots where shotgun pellets had showered the walls. A man lay on the front steps, his blood pooled under his head on the sidewalk at the bottom of the steps. On top of the porch roof, a woman lay with a baby still in her arms. She probably had thought the walls would protect her from the carnage inside. It didn't and she and the baby now lay dead in the hot sun. Their blood had run down the shingles into the gutter – how far had it gotten from that point? To the pipe?

They headed inside. Nick made the mistake of looking down at the blood as he passed. He quickly looked away when his stomach lurched – he had been fighting the stomach flu for three days. He wanted desperately to be in bed, it was his day off, but the week before Valentines Day was always busy so Catherine begged him into helping. He regretted it the minute he left the house and had to stop six times to vomit. He considered asking to go home again, but all that was waiting at home for his Valentines Day was an empty house and large screen TV.

The two CSI stopped at the door to pull on booties and then entered, staying against the wall. Detective Williams stood in a doorway with his notebook.

"Tell us who's where," Catherine told him.

"We have four men in the living room there, another man in the kitchen. There's a child dead in that bedroom, and another baby and woman in the back bedroom, both dead. Someone made someone very, very angry to shoot kids."

Nick could see the backyard from where he stood.

"I'll start in the backyard."

"Oh yeah?" Catherine said.

He looked at her. She was grinning, having something else in mind for him.

"Okay. I'll stay in here with my stomach flu and throw up another few times on the crime scene. Does that work for you?"

She lost her smile. "You get so grouchy when you get sick."

"I hate throwing up."

"Go."

Nick headed for the backyard. He walked down the steps and closed his eyes when a wave of nausea swept over him. He sat down on the bottom step, putting his arm around his stomach, trying to resist the urge to vomit. He looked up as it eased away and saw fingers disappear inside the storage-shed door. Nick sat his kit down and slowly stood, drawing his gun.

He approached the shed, expecting someone to jump out at him. Nick reached the door, grabbed it and swung it open. Someone did jump out at him – a small boy. He plowed his head right into Nick's stomach, knocking him over. The boy jumped over Nick, headed for the back fence. Nick holstered his gun as he ran after him.

"WE HAVE A RUNNER!" Nick screamed.

The boy slipped through a hole in the fence. Nick couldn't fit so he had to quickly scale it. Two officers were right behind him as he dropped to the ground into another yard. He saw the boy heading through an opening and dashed after him. The boy slipped easily through holes and loose boards in fences, scaled trees, swings, even a trampoline, keeping well ahead of Nick and the officers. They came out on a busy street and the boy ran out into the traffic. Nick grimaced as cars came close to hitting the boy or him.

On the other side were a set of train tracks and a train was quickly approaching. Nick thought for sure he had the boy cornered, but the child surprised him. He ran to a fence protecting a culvert and storm drain, and slipped through the narrow opening where the fence was loose. Nick hit the fence and started over, watching the boy run to the bars covering the storm drain. The boy started squeezing through. Nick tried to hurry over but by the time he dropped into the culvert, the boy had vanished into the storm drain.

Nick stopped and stared. He only had a few seconds warning of nausea before he started vomiting until he was dry heaving. He pushed away the officer that had come to help him.

"We have to find that boy," Nick muttered.

"Nick, come on. You need to get in some shade. You don't have any color."

Nick started dry heaving again.

#

The entire lab's attention was drawn when they heard screaming and yelling. They stared as two officers drug a screaming, kicking, crying child past. Nick recognized him – it was the child that escaped him three days ago. Photos in the house were a clue that the he was sibling to the two babies, and one of the women and men killed. There was plenty of evidence that exonerated the child, but Nick believed he might have seen who shot and killed his family.

Detective Williams came to the door of the lab.

"We're going to put him in A, but we're waiting on a child advocate."

"Where was he found?"

"Behind the Flamingo, digging through the dumpster for food. One of their security guards pulled him out, and then he recognized him. He said this kid's been acting out since he caught him. You should see the supply room the guard locked him in while he waited for us." Williams left, telling him, "I'll let you know when we're ready, Nick."

Nick was curious why the child was acting feral. Maybe he'd always acted that way.

"I don't envy you," Hodges said behind Nick.

He glanced back at him. Hodges had already gone back to work. Nick started to turn, but stopped, looking back. Henry was standing in the hall, staring where they had taken the kid. What was he watching? Nick didn't see anything. He went back to work. He couldn't talk to the child until the advocate was there and he had five other cases to work on until then.

#

From the observation room, Nick watched Catherine trying to talk to the child.

"Xander, we know that they hurt your brothers and your parents. We want to find them. Please, tell me something. Anything. Anything that will help me find them," she begged.

But Xander Oliver Fergusson remained mute. Just like he had until Nick finally stormed out. Just like he had until Riley and his supervisor, Doctor Langford had finally given up. And just like he was as Catherine heaved a sigh and left the room. The child advocate sat silently next to Xander – she'd also tried to get him to talk with no success.

Nick sighed, hearing her come in and stop next to him.

"He's not going to talk, Nick. Whatever that kid saw has him scared."

"I need to know what he saw."

The two turned to leave, and found Henry standing in the door staring at the child. He noticed them staring and quickly disappeared.

"That was strange," Catherine said.

It was, but Nick was too focused on what he needed and couldn't get. They left together, discussing other ideas about identifying the shooters.

#

Henry stood at the corner, watching Nick and Catherine leave. He walked back to the observation room and sat down. Xander sat alone, dirty and silent. His advocate had stepped out to make a phone call. Henry sat down in a chair, watching the boy. Henry pulled his cell phone from his belt and dialed a number.

"Hi!" Jason cried.

Henry smiled. "Hey, kiddo. Getting a lot of work done?"

"Yeah. I have two more papers to write and then I'm done. Can I play on your Xbox?"

"Yeah. Just don't save over my games, k?"

"Sure. How's work?"

Henry looked up at Xander. "Jason, I need you to do something for me. Grab my backpack and I want you to pack those clothes I bought you that are too big, a towel, washcloth, and your body and shampoo wash. I also need a box of crayons and paper in there. Then pack me a picnic with our leftovers from dinner last night and two bottles of water. I'll be home in a few minutes to get it. Can you do that for me? I'm going to be in a hurry."

"Yeah. Why?"

"I'm trying to help a kid. He lost his parents this week."

"I'll be waiting outside for you."

"Thanks, bro. Cake."

"Pie."

Henry hung up and turned as he stood. He ran right into Nick. Nick reached around and picked up the folder sitting on the ledge in front of the one-way mirror.

"So you're going to give it a try, huh?" Nick asked.

"What?"

"You're going to try talking to Xander?"

"Is that okay?"

"Yeah. Let me know when you're going to go in. His advocate has to be present and I need to observe." Nick turned and walked out. "I'll let her know we need to keep him here for a little bit longer."

Henry looked back at Xander. He hoped his idea would work.

#

Xander wiped his tears away, smearing the dirt on his face. He looked up when someone came to the door. It was a tall, thin man. He talked for a while to the child advocate. Then one of the policemen that said his name was Nick when he'd been in earlier, the one that had chased him, showed up. The three spoke for a while. The advocate and the policeman waited in the hall when the thin man came in. He was carrying a backpack. He pulled from it clothes, a washcloth and towel, and a bottle of soap.

"My name's Henry. Would you like to get cleaned up?"

Xander stared at him.

"This is where you either shake or nod your head."

The comment sounded funny, but Henry didn't smile. Xander slowly nodded.

"The showers are down the hall here. And I have some clean clothes. My brother told me he picked out his favorite ones just for you, so I'm sure you'll look like a skater."

Xander slowly got up and Henry walked to the door ahead of him. Outside the advocate and policeman turned, watching the two. Xander looked down the hall, toward the exit. It was blocked by the two.

"Don't run, Xander," Henry quietly told him.

Xander looked up at him. Henry wasn't looking at him, he was picking at a string on the shirt in his hands. Xander looked at the policeman and advocate; both were staring at Henry.

"If you leave us, we cannot protect you from the bad men that hurt your family, and you."

Xander looked back at Henry. He met his eyes.

"And if you don't want to listen to that, or believe that, at least stay until you've had a shower and some food. It's easier to figure out how to escape men chasing you on a full stomach."

Henry smiled this time, and for the first time in days Xander felt a little hope and a little safe.

Henry motioned down the hall. "Showers are this way, kiddo."

The group started down the hall.

"Do you call your brother kiddo?" Xander asked.

"Yes."

Xander reached out and took Henry's hand. Henry said nothing, just held it. Behind him both the policeman and advocate smiled to see Henry had managed to get further than anyone had with the child.

#

Nick, Langford, and the child advocate watched the Henry and Xander from the observation room. So far, all that Henry had done was ask him what soda he wanted, then heat up the home fried chicken, and set out their lunch. Nick was working hard at not feeling impatient because Henry seemed to be dragging his feet – but he had to trust his instincts. He knew that Henry learned, and perhaps was still learning, all his parenting techniques from Grissom. Nick never knew about the times Henry had lost his temper with Jason and ran or called Grissom to help smooth things over – he only knew about the times when any other parent would have blown up at Jason that Henry showed insurmountable patience. So he convinced himself that he had to be patient and give Henry a chance.

"How long are we going to wait?" Langford asked.

The answer came fast, only because of Nick's previous thoughts. "As long as it takes."

"We don't have all day."

"Yes we do."

"You're going to stay here and wait?" Langford asked.

"I am."

"How do you know this lab tech can even help? He's a toxicologist."

Nick suddenly smiled, remembering a comment Catherine had made when Grissom asked a question that deserved it. He looked up at the man and asked him, "Do you ever read your employee's personnel files?"

Langford stared at him. And until he spoke, Nick thought he'd just crossed some imaginary line he didn't know about.

"What would I read that would be of interest to me?"

"My thoughts exactly," the advocate added.

"Henry is a rarity. He's a genius with a good helping of reality. There isn't much Henry can't figure out, he'll figure this one out too, if we give him time and room."

Langford didn't smile or speak. Nick looked away, thinking the conversation was done – although he wasn't sure if Langford had heard him or not.

"You know… The first time I spoke to Gil about something that young man did that surprised me, he said something very similar. He said his brother wants to be a CSI too, but he can't be until he's twenty-one. I heard he's attending college to be a lawyer."

"Yes," Nick answered.

"Does that genius gene run in their family?"

"Apparently. Both his parents were considered genius in their respective fields."

"You knew them?"

"No." Nick remembered that day, the day he met Henry's parents. They were deceased, on tables in the morgue. He learned that when it came to son / father relationships, Henry's and his own were frighteningly similar.

#

Henry finally sat down across from Xander and started dishing up his food. Xander just stared at it.

"You don't like fried chicken?"

"Where'd it come from?"

"I made it."

Xander looked at him.

"What?" Henry asked.

"My dad never cooked."

"I like to cook for me and my brother, it's the only time we get to talk some days."

"Is that coleslaw?"

"Yes."

"Did you make it?"

"Yes. From my mom's recipe. Do you like coleslaw?"

"Sometimes."

"Have a little. You don't have to eat more if you don't like it."

Xander dished a little onto his plate and tasted it. Then he dished two big spoonfuls on. He piled on three pieces of chicken, two biscuits and took a banana. Eagerly he took the bottle of water Henry handed him and the two started eating silently.

"How old is your brother?" Xander asked.

"He's eight, a year younger than you."

"Does he go to Franklin?"

"No."

"What school does he go to?"

"He's going to college."

Xander stopped eating, staring at Henry. "He's eight and he's in college?"

"Yes. I was ten when I started college."

"Wow. You guys must be really smart."

Henry smiled. "Well, let's keep that between us. I don't want my boss finding out how smart I am. Then I'd have to do a whole lot more work."

Xander almost smiled.

"You make jokes funny."

"I do?"

"Yes. You make them, but you don't smile."

"Well," Henry paused to drink some water. "I wanted to be a comedian when I was your age. You know those guys that stand up on stage and tell lots of jokes?"

Xander nodded.

"So I practiced and practiced not laughing or smiling much when I told a joke. It's funnier that way – and audience doesn't like seeing funny guys laugh at their own joke. Did you know that? I thought that was a strange thing when I found it out."

"How did you find it out?"

Henry's brow dipped as he thought. "Honestly, I do not recall. Maybe I read it somewhere. I've read so much in my life that I forget where half of what I know came from. It's just there. Stuck in my head like a big stick in mud."

Xander giggled.

"Say, do you know what a DNA strand looks like?"

"No."

Henry sat his fork down and pulled out a box of crayons and paper. He carefully drew a DNA strand and handed it to Xander. He went back to eating while Xander looked it over.

The child sat it aside.

"Do you know DNA stands for? It's not really the name, it's from letters in the name."

"It's an… Acronym?"

"Yeah! Where'd you learn that?"

Xander became still and didn't answer. Henry waited.

"My mom… She… She helped me with my spelling. I don't spell so good."

"Spelling takes practice."

"I bet it doesn't for you and your brother."

"Well… Spelling itself doesn't, but there are some words out there that I just cannot seem to spell right. I have to think about it. Like the words lose and loose. I'm always putting loose in place of lose. It really annoys me!"

"I have trouble with neighbor."

"Who doesn't?"

Xander smiled a little. "So what does DNA mean?"

"It means deoxyribonucleic acid."

"I can pronounce DNA."

Henry chuckled. "I hear ya. Took me years of college to finally let that just roll right off my tongue."

"Where does DNA come from?"

Henry picked up an apple. "This has DNA. So does the chicken, the cabbage in the coleslaw, and you and me." Henry bit into the apple and sat it aside. "It's like a map that tells how everything should grow and what it looks like when it does. Now here's the coolest thing about DNA. The only people on the planet that have DNA identical to anther person are twins. Everyone else, you and me, our DNA is completely different and it could tell people looking at it exactly who we were, even if they didn't know us."

Xander was enthralled in this discovery.

"What about dogs? Could someone tell the difference between dogs too?"

"Dogs, cats, horses, all sorts of living things. It can get a little tricky with plants because they live by their own rules."

Xander smiled, sliding to the edge of his seat.

#

In the observation room the three were on the edge of their seats.

"He's good…" the advocate commented.

"Yes he is," Nick replied. Henry was surprising the hell out of him today.

They were so entranced by what was happening that they didn't hear Catherine or Riley come in. They'd only caught the tail end of the DNA conversation and had no idea what was going on.

"What's he doing?" Riley asked.

Nick smiled. "Wait for it. It's coming."

So the group did – three of them knowing full well where this conversation was leading.

#

"So… What would someone need from me to know it was my DNA?"

"A couple strands of hair with the tag on the end. Or some blood. Or even swabbing the inside of your mouth would work."

"What's a tag?"

Henry reached up and with face, pulled out some hair. He held it up in front of Xander. The boy climbed onto his knees, leaning out to see. Henry pointed at the small tag at the end.

"That's the tag. That little tiny bulb at the end. And it holds millions, maybe billions, of DNA strands in it."

Xander pulled out a couple of his hairs, holding them up so he could see the tag. He leaned back, feeling it between his fingers.

"That's so cool. Could I see my DNA?"

"With a microscope, sure."

"Could we go look at it now?"

"Not now. We're still eating."

Xander put his hair on the table in a spot where it wouldn't get lost and started eating again.

"Since everyone has different DNA, scientists and computer programmers and a whole bunch of other people figured out away to record it into a computer. It helps police find bad people who have done something really stupid, like rob a bank or—"

"Kill someone?" Xander quietly asked.

"Yeah. They use DNA they find at the scene and compare it with the one recorded in the computer.

Xander sat back in his chair, staring at Henry. "But there wasn't any DNA at my house that you could use to find the bad men, was there?"

"On the contrary, there was tons, but the bad men aren't in the computer and we don't know what they look like." Henry side, poking at his food with his fork. "It makes me really sad."

Xander stared at him. The question was moving across his face. He wanted to ask it, but he was scared again. Henry patiently waited, taking small bites so he'd be ready to talk when Xander was.

Softly, in almost a whisper, Xander asked, "Why does it make _you_ sad?"

Henry looked up at him. "Because they hurt you, and I can't catch them because I don't know what they look like. I wish I could catch them for you and make them go to jail where they belong, but I can't. None of us can." Henry sat back. "Sometimes, I wish I had super powers, do you know that? Especially right now."

"Why? Which ones?"

"Well, if I had super powers that let me see what you saw, I could just reach in your head and take out those pictures of those men. I wouldn't have to wonder, and hope that they'll do something stupid again so I can catch them."

"Do you think they might hurt someone else? Some other kid?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

Xander looked at his food. Slowly he looked back up at Henry.

"I'll make you a trade."

Henry looked up at him. "A trade? I don't have anything good to trade with."

"Yes you do. You promise me that we can look at my DNA in my hair, and I'll tell you what the bad guys I saw looked like."

"Oh that's not a fair trade. You're going to be doing all the hard work."

"They killed my parents and brother and sister. They were twins. They had the same DNA."

"Yes they did. Do you know what else?"

"What?"

"Their DNA was very close to yours because you three were related."

"Can I see that? Can I see theirs on the microscope?"

"I can see what I could do."

"We have a fair trade then."

Henry smiled. "I guess we do. But I tell you what, let's finish eating first. Then I'll go ask an artist to come in with us and the three of us will work on the guy's picture. Xander, is it okay if I tell you how proud I am of you?"

"For what?"

"For understanding DNA and then helping me catch these bad men."

Xander stared at him – it was hard to tell what was going on in his head. He slowly nodded.

"My dad never told me he was proud of anything I did."

Henry leaned on the table. "Neither did mine. Did it upset you too?"

Xander nodded. "Sometimes I just got so mad that I'd yell at him and he'd spank me for it."

"Mine was the coat closet. Ten minutes in the coat closet."

Xander leaned forward. "You sound like you miss him."

"I do. He was my dad."

Xander nodded. A tear slid down his cheek, then another. "I miss mine too."

Henry got up and walked around the table. Xander reached up, letting him pick him up. Henry sat down in the chair, gently swaying and whispering condolences to the boy.

#

Catherine and the advocate were both crying.

"Damn, he's good!" the advocate said again.

No one commented. She hadn't needed to state the obvious, but the obvious it was.


End file.
